Mr Pot, Meet Mr Kettle
by Witch's Quill
Summary: Any amount of time spent at Grimmauld Place is never anything short of an adventure. After all, you never know what sort of trouble you might get yourself into. Especially when there's Magic in the air...
1. Of Haircuts and Scrambled Eggs

_Title: **"Mr. Pot, Meet Mr. Kettle"**_

_Author: Witch's Quill_

_Pairing: RW/HG & HG/GW  
_

_Summary: Any amount of time spent at Grimmauld Place is never anything short of an adventure. After all, you never know what sort of trouble you might get yourself in to. Especially when there's Magic in the air..._

_Rating: PG-13  
_

_A/N: Here, finally, is an R/Hr fic that focuses primarily on the actual romance of the two. Of course, there are still going to be some fun sub-plots and I hope to include a few other pairings in there as well ;)_

_And oh, if the title confuses you, just think of the saying "The pot calling the kettle black." If you've never heard of it...ask your mom. She'll know._

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**"Mr. Pot, Meet Mr. Kettle"**

"No, don't look at me!" Hermione dove behind the dingy, moth-eaten couch in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

"Come on Hermione, let us see it."

"No!"

"It's just a haircut, Hermione—it can't be _that_ bad."

"Really, what are you doing behind the sofa?"

"I didn't expect you to be here so soon," came the mumbled reply. "You startled me…"

Harry and Ron looked at each other and tried very hard not to laugh. They had only just arrived from the Burrow via flooing into the house across the street (the family that lived there had just left on a vacation to Africa) and upon entering Grimmauld Place, they happened to come upon Hermione just as she was exiting the stairwell. Unfortunately (for them) she had seen them before they saw her, and had scurried into hiding before they could even catch a glimpse of the haircut that Ginny had told them so much about in an owl that very morning.

Painfully curious, the two boys started creeping towards Hermione's hiding place. But before they could reach it, a little hand appeared over the back of the couch and grabbed the lacy throw, pulling it down and out of sight.

"Hermione," said Ron. "What are you—" But he choked before he could finish his sentence. The moldy brown throw suddenly emerged around the side of the couch in the very obvious shape of a human head. A small hole in the fabric revealed two familiar, honey-brown eyes and a stray curl of frizzy hair. Ron's face turned purple as he coughed violently, caught between a roaring laugh and the last word of his sentence. Harry gave him a hearty slap on the back.

"It is too _that_ bad," she said sharply, disappearing again. "And why are you here? You weren't supposed to arrive until late tonight."

"Well, it's good to see you too," huffed Harry, though not very convincingly as he was still finding the situation very funny.

"Yeah, remember us?" said Ron. He pointed to himself and articulated very slowly, "_Friends_."

There was a great, heaving sigh, and then Hermione's voice floated over the couch, sounding tense and irritated. "You just—you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"

"Oh come on, Hermione," said Ron, with a smile much too wide for his face. "When have we ever laughed at you?"

"Mm, two seconds ago comes to mind."

"I wasn't _laughing_—I was…coughing. Isn't that true, Harry?"

Harry didn't say anything in reply but shrugged, reluctant to get in the middle.

"Exactly right, Harry," said Ron, unperturbed. "Now come out already, Hermione—I want to get some breakfast."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Okay," she said hesitantly.

At last Hermione stood, the ridiculous throw still pulled over her head. Harry thought she looked very much as though she were being eaten by a big, fuzzy, brown sludge monster. But he did not articulate this particular thought.

"It's really short," Hermione warned them, still peaking out from beneath the moldy fabric.

"Oh really, Hermione—it looks just fine!" Ginny suddenly appeared from the stairwell and strode over to Hermione, grabbing a big handful of the sludge monster and yanking it off her head.

With a shriek Hermione hid her face behind her hands, only hesitantly peeked out through parted fingers.

The boys gasped. She was right—her hair was very short. Her frizzy mess of curls was now cropped (though still bushy as ever) and came down to just below the upper line of her jaw. She had obviously spent time with it, as it now parted to the side and was pulled fashionably back with a tiny broomstick-shaped hairpin.

It was short, thought Harry, but not at all unfortunate looking. He actually thought it looked quite nice.

And from the expression on Ron's face, Harry was pretty sure he thoroughly agreed.

Ginny cleared her throat and Hermione gave a start, blushing as she lowered her arms. Ginny just rolled her eyes and said to the boys in a casual tone, "So? What's the verdict, Jury?"

Ron sputtered, and then appeared to be about to start a sentence, but nothing intelligible came out. Harry smiled and stepped in for him. "It looks...uh, nice, Hermione. You obviously have great taste in, er…um…" He indicated the broomstick clip. "…hair things," he finished lamely.

Much to his surprise, Hermione beamed. "You think so?" she asked, still smiling.

Ron was still sputtering, and Harry started to feel a little sorry for him.

Ginny, however, seemed to think he was an outstandingly funny joke. "And how about you, Oh-Articulate-One?"

Ron flushed a brilliant shade of red and shoved his hands in his pockets with a scowl. "I don't care," he finally managed to grumble.

Hermione's smile fell a little. "Oh," she said. "Yes, well, it isn't really a big deal." After a pause, her smile returned, strangely bigger than before. She suddenly seemed over-bright—as though she were a lamp and someone had just turned her dimmer up to full blast. "It'll grow back someday, I suppose," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders and with a flick of her arms, replacing the throw in a cloud of dust.

"Exactly right," said Ginny. Then all four of them hurried on to breakfast.

* * *

Harry's mouth watered as Mrs. Weasley set down plate after plate of her exquisite cooking; steaming buttermilk pancakes, crisp strips of bacon, and sausage links. Mrs. Weasley might drive Ron mad, but she undoubtedly made the best breakfasts in the world. 

"Eat up, dears," Mrs. Weasley said as everyone dove into the steaming buffet with hapless abandon. She bustling around the table, making sure napkins were in laps and elbows tucked neatly away before she finally took a seat herself. "If you lot are still hungry when you're done, there is plenty more where that came from."

"I fink fish ish p'enty, Mum," said Fred, his mouth so full of food that he looked very much like a freckly, red-haired chipmunk. "Fanks."

Everyone at the table nodded their agreement, their mouths also stuffed near to exploding. Mrs. Weasley looked very pleased.

It was a long time before conversation of any kind started up around the breakfast table, even though it included every member of the Weasley family (minus Percy, who Harry didn't think had ever been to Headquarters, and Mr. Weasley, who had left early that morning). In addition, there were also a few other Order members including both Sirius and Lupin, who had been making a significant dent in the food supply for about a week now.

"Good heavens, Remus, you _are_ thin," said Mrs. Weasley eventually, as she spooned another steaming portion of eggs onto Lupin's plate. "Have I not been giving you enough food? I'll never forgive myself! Please, Remus, take some more bacon—Oh, that's right, you don't eat meat do you? Well have some more eggs then, dear."

Lupin waved his arms in defense and pushed his chair back a ways from the table. "Please, Molly, you are very kind, but I think that if I eat any more I might very well explode."

Mrs. Weasley made a face. "Nonsense—_look_ at you! All skin and bones, and hardly enough—"

"Really, Molly, I'm fine." Lupin attempted to give her what looked like a reassuring smile.

Mrs. Weasley, however, still seemed to take offense (though she did her best to hide it). "Well," she said, standing up with an over-bright expression on her face that very much resembled Hermione's following Ron's comment about her hair. "I suppose I should start clean-up then," she quipped, grabbing up the nearest plates and sweeping them into the kitchen, even though some of them were still loaded with food.

"Now, Molly, don't," said Lupin, giving everyone an exasperated look. Tonks giggled, but then started to choke on her bacon and so had to hide her face in her napkin.

"Molly, at least let me help you with the dishes." Lupin stood and started gathering up glasses and plates—though he was sure to only grab the empty ones.

"Have the four of you gotten your letters yet?" asked Sirius after time, when the bickering between Mrs. Weasley and Lupin in the kitchen had ceased and there was only the sound of water splashing and dishes being banged around.

"Not yet," said Hermione, and Harry almost smiled at the gloomy tone in her voice. "They aren't supposed to arrive for another week—I _do_ hope I make Head Girl! Though I doubt I will...I mean, have you seen the way Professor McGonagall has been looking at me lately? I swear it was that essay in Transfiguration about Wood Sprites and how to turn their nests into handbags—but I really _do_ feel that it is extremely inconsiderate to the Wood Sprites! After all, how would _you_ like it if your house was turned into—"

"Yeah…" Sirius replied, looking almost sorry he asked.

Then the table lapsed into silence again. There was an awkward space of time during which everyone pushed their food around with their forks and the only sound was Mrs. Weasley grumping around the kitchen.

"Well, we're off," said Fred abruptly, standing up and throwing his green fringed napkin on the table. George followed suit almost immediately.

"Where are you going?" asked Ron suspiciously.

George reached over and pinched Ron's cheek. "Money's not going to count itself now is it, ikle Ronnikins?"

Ron swatted his hand away with an annoyed growl.

"Business doing well then?" Sirius asked curiously, piling up his own empty dishes.

"Just blooming," replied Fred. Then the both of them gave a quick salute to the room and left without another word.

Ron sat back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and looking sulky. Tonks struck up a conversation with Ginny and Hermione about something along the lines of a "girls' day out"…or maybe just something about lunch in Diagon Alley—Harry wasn't sure, but didn't really care as it was pretty clear that he wasn't invited.

"Want to play a game of Chess, Ron?" Harry asked him, trying to get his attention away from how successful his brothers were.

"Sure," he replied moodily. "I'll go upstairs and get my—AARGH!" Ron gave a sudden convulsion and toppled off his chair. "MY FOOT! IT'S GOT MY FOOT! GET IT OFF!"

With a great jerk, Ron flung his leg from under the table, and whatever it was that had latched itself onto his toes, rocketed across the floor with a yelp and disappeared through the kitchen doorway. There was an answering scream from Mrs. Weasley, and suddenly the thing came zooming out again, launching itself at Hermione, who caught it up in her arms and hugged it furiously.

"What in the bloody hell was that!" Ron gasped, his face pale. "Hermione?"

But Hermione didn't answer, occupied instead on crooning over the thing that was still clutched in her arms.

Sirius gave a huge sigh. "_That_, would be Hermione's new puppy."

Harry gave the thing that Hermione was holding a better look and saw that it was indeed a puppy. It was a fat little thing, and didn't seem to be of any particular breed that Harry knew of (which wasn't saying much). At the moment, it was preoccupied with chewing delightedly on Hermione's hair and squirming so vigorously that Hermione seemed to be having a great deal of trouble not dropping it.

"But, Hermione," said Ron abashedly. "You have a _cat_!"

Hermione finally looked up from the puppy and gave them a miserable look. "I—Well—They don't get along very well," she admitted gloomily.

"I should say not!" said Mrs. Weasley, who had just appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking very disgruntled. "Hermione, would you please keep that animal under control! I can't very well wash dishes when I've got a little creature running around under my feet and tripping me at every turn!"

"I know, Mrs. Weasley. I am so sorry—I really am. But he's only just a puppy after all…"

Ron gave a "Ha!" of disbelief. "That little monster just about took my leg off!"

"He is _not_ a monster," said Hermione, stamping her foot as she hugged the puppy even closer. Said canine, however, did not seem to mind, as it was still making quite a meal out of Hermione's now thoroughly slimed hair.

"Yeah," Ginny said as she put her hands on her hips in a very Mrs. Weasley-like manner. "And his name is Rupert!"

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_A/N: More will follow soon, I promise. And if you are so inclined, please feel free to leave me a review. I would very much like to know what you think :)_


	2. Of Cats, Dogs and Darkened Doorways

_A/N: Chapter two already—yes! I hope you enjoy it._

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"GIVE THAT BACK YOU FILTHY MUTT!"

Harry leapt out of the way as a furry brown rocket zoomed by with a very red-faced Ron right on his tail. As Ron thundered past, Harry looked down the hall and caught a glimpse of something orange clenched in Rupert's teeth.

It was a second before he recognized what it was. Then Harry suddenly knew why Ron was so angry, and couldn't exactly blame him. It was quite obvious that Hermione's exhaustingly exuberant puppy had just gotten hold of Ron's Chudley Cannons hat and was well on its way to chewing the life out of it.

"NO!" wailed Ron, as he finally caught hold of one end of the hat and gave a mighty pull. "NO! LET IT GO! I SAID LET IT—AAAARGH!"

Rupert suddenly gave up the hat for a great mouthful of Ron's hand whose owner howled in pain and tried to wrench it free.

"Ron—_don't_!" shrieked Hermione as she suddenly came whirling into the room, scooping up Rupert in a flash and making Ron give another yelp of pain as the dog's teeth detached so suddenly from his arm. "How dare you treat him like that!" she said with a very sour look on her face.

Harry watched in sympathy as Ron sputtered for a moment. "HE ATE MY CHUDLEY CANNONS HAT!" Ron bellowed at last, holding up the tattered remains of said apparel, which was now dripping steadily with saliva.

"He's only just a—ouch!—puppy, Ron." Hermione winced as Rupert caught hold of her earlobe and began gnawing enthusiastically on it. "He's _teething_," she said, wrenching the puppy away from her head and setting him back on the ground. Much to Harry's horror, Rupert then proceeded to catapult himself in Harry's direction and upon reaching him, launched himself onto Harry's shoelaces.

"I can see that," Ron growled, massaging his hand. "But why can't he bloody _teeth_ on something else?"

Hermione gave him a withering glare. "He doesn't know any better, Ron—he's only just a—"

"Puppy—yeah," Ron finished for her with a nasty, sarcastic tone. "Yeah, alright, whatever you say."

* * *

Four hours later, in a recently discovered upstairs study, Harry ground his teeth as Rupert once again missed the toy he was supposed to be chewing and instead clamped down on Harry's unwisely exposed ankle.

Now, in the long run, Harry had never been a very big dog person (this owing to a rather traumatic incident many years ago involving his grotesque and strangely masculine Aunt, her dog, and a very tall tree). But though that feeling had lessened quite a bit after meeting Sirius and getting to know him in his Animagus form, Harry still had trouble warming up to Hermione's new visitor.

"Just tell him _No_ when he does that, Harry," said Hermione, looking up from her latest epic-sized tomb at the sound of Rupert's growling.

"Uh-huh," Harry replied distractedly as he carefully dislodged his ankle and pulled it up with him on top of his chair.

"Stop pestering me, you ruddy cat!"

Crookshanks hissed as Ron gave him an angry shove, moving him rather forcefully off the copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ that he had recently borrowed (again) from Harry. Ron now lay sprawled on the ground by the unlit fireplace, reading the very same book for what seemed the hundredth time that summer.

"Ron," said Hermione warningly, and Harry felt the impending doom that always seemed to accompany that certain tone.

"Well, he was _bothering_ me," Ron muttered in defense. But at the look on Hermione's face, he grudgingly moved himself onto the couch where he would be much farther out of Crookshanks "territory."

This new movement, however, did not go unnoticed by Rupert, who bounded over to Crookshanks and made a fine sight of trying to make off with his thick, bottlebrush tail. Crookshanks gave out a squeal of disgust and darted out of the room with Rupert right behind, yipping and snapping his little jaws.

"Oh, no—Crookshanks! Rupert, get back here!" Hermione leapt out of her chair, her massive book falling to the ground with a loud _THUNK_, and followed the two out of the room. Harry could hear her sprinting down the hall. Then suddenly, there was a great crash which was followed by what seemed like an entire orchestra of yips, hisses, barks and groans.

"Gosh, Hermione—I'm so sorry! I just didn't see—OUCH!"

"Rupert, get _off_ her!"

Harry and Ron hurried out into the hallway and in moments were all but rolling on the floor with laughter at the sight before them.

Tonks, the poor woman, had apparently suffered the extreme misfortune of attempting to come down the stairs carrying an armful of parchments just as Crookshanks and Rupert (followed closely by Hermione) had sped underfoot. The result was a tangle of arms, legs, claws and teeth—not to mention heaps of parchment that littered the floor so thickly it looked almost as though a tornado had come through instead of just a cat, puppy, and bushy-haired girl.

It was now that Rupert finally caught hold of Crookshanks' tail with a triumphant growl. An instant later, however, he not-so-triumphantly held on for dear life as the cat zoomed frantically about, banging off walls and furniture and setting up such a terrible yowling that it woke up Mrs. Black's portrait, who then proceeded to raise up a ruckus that topped even Rupert and Crookshank's combined.

"…FILTHY SLIME IN MY HOUSE!" she was now screaming at what seemed to be the top of her lungs (Harry was never quite sure how loud she could get, as it always appeared to him that she got much louder every time). "MUDBLOOD WRETCH BRINGING HORRIBLE BEASTS IN TO _MY HOUSE!_"

"_YOU'RE_ THE BEAST, YOU MISERABLE WOMAN!"

Harry could hear Sirius wrestling with the curtain downstairs and secretly admired him for not using more colorful language. Harry knew what it was like to have touchy relatives…

"Here," said Hermione once she and Tonks had disentangled themselves. "Let me help you with—No! _Rupert_!" Hermione made a grab for the partially unrolled map that Rupert was starting to make off with. Unfortunately she missed it and instead landed smack on top of an already thoroughly traumatized Crookshanks.

Screeching in surprise, he took off and bolted up the stairs faster than even Rupert could follow (though he made a valiant attempt). With a yip of glee, Rupert scrambled after Crookshanks and was very soon out of sight.

"Oooh—sorry Crookshanks—_Rupert_! No—Rupert come back!"

"Just let them go already, Hermione," said Ron as he and Harry started picking up armfuls of parchment and handing them back to Tonks.

"What is all this, anyway?" Harry asked Tonks hurriedly, cutting off Hermione as she opened her mouth for an undoubtedly scathing retort.

"Order stuff," she said promptly, holding her hand out to Ron who had just picked up the last sheet.

"Really!" Ron said excitedly. He started to unroll the parchment but Tonks snatched it out of his hands before he could read it, almost dropping her load all over again in the process.

"Thanks for the help," she sang lightly, ignoring Ron's dark look and sweeping out of the room.

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and said sulkily, "We never get to see _anything_. I mean, after we helped her and everything the least she could do was—"

"Oh, stop complaining, Ron," Hermione snapped, brushing off her jeans with a disgruntled look on her face. Then she walked across the hall to poke her head up the stairwell. "Great," she muttered. "Now I've got to go find them."

Ron made a face at Hermione's back as she disappeared up the stairs.

"I wish she would stop telling me what to do all the time," he growled. "I hate bossy women."

Outwardly, Harry nodded, but inwardly he had the sneaking suspicion that Ron was just saying that to be spiteful. Harry had the impression that though Ron probably didn't like bossy women in general, he certainly seemed to like Hermione—maybe even more than like her.

But Harry was rather fond of having Ron as a friend and so decided against voicing this particular observation.

"Come on mate," said Harry jovially, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go see if Ginny's gotten into that locked door yet."

* * *

Hermione jumped up from her chair as Harry, Ron and Ginny entered the room, all looking glum.

"Where have you three been?" she asked with what seemed like a slightly frantic edge to her voice. She swooped down on them like a vulture, her short, curly hair in frazzled disarray.

"Um…" said Harry and Ron together, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Ginny rolled her eyes and pushed in front of them. "I found this locked door downstairs yesterday," she said, exasperated. "And now these blockheads are obsessed with seeing what's behind it." She gave Hermione a _boys-are-so-stupid_ look.

"We are not _obsessed_!" said Ron, narrowing his eyes and scowling at his sister.

"Sure," she replied, rolling her eyes again.

But Hermione, whom all of this seemed to be directed at, didn't appear to care. "Have any of you seen Rupert or Crookshanks?" she asked, sounding steadily more frantic as she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "I can't find them!"

Harry elbowed Ron, quickly turning his gleeful smile into a wince of pain. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said. "We'll help you find them—won't we, Ron?" He gave the red-head a meaningful look.

Ron did not seem keen to this idea, however, as he stood there massaging his side where Harry's elbow had caught him. But, as always, true friendship never failed to shine through, and he grudgingly mumbled, "Yeah, fine."

After a slight pause, Hermione broke out a small smile and then sped towards the door. "Thanks loads!" she said happily. "Harry, Ron—you can start on the second floor while Ginny and I take the first."

Ginny obediently followed after her, but was almost flattened as Hermione suddenly turned.

"And Ron…" she said, putting her hands on her hips in a very stern sort of way. "_Be nice_."

He made no reply, but just scowled.

* * *

An hour later found Ginny and Hermione completely unsuccessful, pondering and pouting on the very same moth-eaten sofa that had recently served as Hermione's convenient hideaway.

"Oh," Hermione groaned into Ginny's shoulder. "Oh, Ginny, I'm so irresponsible! How could I lose them? _Both_ of them?" Her body shook as a sudden sob overtook her. "I'm a t-terrible p-person!" she wailed, flinging herself onto one of the lumpy pillows and setting off another great cloud of dust.

After a short coughing fit, Ginny patted her friend's back in a desperate attempt to comfort her. "No, Hermione, you're not a terrible person," she said, then sneezed. "We'll find them. I promise."

Hermione looked up at her with big, brown, watery eyes and sniffed heartily.

"I mean, honestly," Ginny continued after giving Hermione a warm hug. "It's not like they just disappeared out of thin air!" She smiled widely. "We just have to keep looking, that's all."

Instantly, as though somebody had flicked a switch on the back of her head, Hermione's sobs were gone, and her unusually mournful expression was replaced with the familiar one of absolute determination.

"Alright," she said, standing up. "Alright, let's go. Maybe Harry and Ron have found something by now."

"Yes," agreed Ginny, following suit. "I'll bet I know the first place they looked, too."

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pounding down the staircase reached their ears and momentarily, Harry and Ron came huffing and panting into the room.

"We—we found them," gasped Harry, wincing slightly as he tried to draw breath.

Hermione looked positively thrilled. "Really?" she squealed. "Oh, how wonderful! Where are they?"

Harry and Ron exchanged hesitant glances.

"Well…" Harry started to say, but Ron jumped in, his ears slightly pink.

"Behind a door in the laundry room," he said very fast. "I heard the dog barking."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ginny beat her to it.

"In the laundry room? You mean the _locked_ door in the laundry room?" She threw up her hands in what appeared to be utter disgust. "Obsessed! What did I tell you? Absolutely ob—"

"It's true!" shouted Ron, whose face was starting to redden.

"OH! Is it?" Ginny replied loudly. "And why should I believe you, Mr. _Just-use-Alohomora_?"

Ron sputtered in anger for a moment, but was saved a response as Hermione suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, spoke up.

"I believe you, Ron," she said, to everyone's amazement.

"You—you do?" he managed to stammer.

Hermione smiled and gave Ginny a discreet poke in the side to keep her from objecting. "Of course," she said. "Just show me the way."

"But he's _lying_," Ginny whined as all four of them exited the room and walked quickly down the hall.

Ron gave her a furious glare. "Am not!" he snapped.

"Are too! You don't care about Rupert! You just want to—"

"It's alright," said Hermione quietly. "Ron wouldn't lie to me—would you, Ron?"

There was the slightest of pauses and then, "Er…no," he said finally. "No, I wouldn't."

"See?" Hermione smiled and continued on, a slight spring added to her step.

Scowling, Ginny edged up right beside Ron, trying to get close enough so that Hermione could not over-hear. "You're going to look really stupid," she whispered sharply, "when that locked room turns out to be nothing more than an old broom closet."

"Whatever—You wait. You just wait and see," he replied nastily. But his expression was noticeably less confident.

The laundry room was not how Harry initially expected. But then again, he probably should have guessed that a house belonging to a family of wizards (not to mention a family of self-centered _pureblood_ wizards) would not posses a muggle washing machine and dryer. But he couldn't deny being surprised when he walked into a large room and found three rows of very big barrels filled to the brim with soapy water and what appeared to be nothing for drying at all.

Of course, Harry thought, it wasn't like they needed anything especially high-tech. They could always just use magic.

"That's another thing," said Ginny in a loud voice as they made their way to the back of the room. "Let's just pretend for a minute that Ron is right, and Rupert and Crookshanks _are_ behind the door—how did they get there?" She glared at her brother, clearly annoyed. "Are you telling me that the door we've been trying to unlock for two days now just _opened_ by itself and let them through, did it?"

"Yes," He replied promptly.

Ginny looked absolutely disgusted. Harry noticed her face starting to turn red in what he now recognized as a very Weasley-like manner, and saw her flexing her hand as though itching to draw her wand. He thought it might be good to step in before any serious damage was done—like Ron getting his ears hexed off.

"You know, it could just be a spell," Harry said as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Maybe it just opens for animals or—"

"Just opens for animals? Harry!" Ginny gave him an incredulous look. "Are you serious? What sort of spell would do _that_?"

A little embarrassed, and wondering why he ever decided to open his mouth, Harry gave a small shrug.

The argument was over, however, as they approached the door. Everyone was silent—even Ginny.

"Do you hear anything?" asked Hermione eventually.

"No," replied everyone else.

"It's locked—you said?

"Yes," groaned Ron impatiently. "We've tried _everything_."

"Well, let me just…" Hermione reached out a hand for the doorknob, unsure of where exactly she should start. But whatever she was expecting, it was definitely not what happened next

The instant Hermione's fingertips grazed the bronze, tarnished handle of the door there was an explosion of noise. Sirens blared all around them and a woman's voice (which seemed to be coming from somewhere above their heads) wailed in a loud, shrill voice, "MUDBLOOD! MUDBLOOD IN THE HOUSE! MUDBLOOOOOD!"

White as a sheet and startled completely out of her skin, Hermione snatched her hand back and looked over her shoulder at everyone with wide, terrified eyes.

"What's—?" she started to say, but before she could get out another word, some sort of magnetic force seemed to catch hold of her arm started to drag her towards the door. Her bare feet skidded on the white tiled floor as she tried to pull back, but no matter how hard she struggled, she could not seem to keep herself from moving forward. The door flew open with a menacing bang as she continued to be magnetically pulled towards it. A gust of moaning wind barreled out of the yawning opening, sending shivers all the way up to the tips of Harry's hair as he stared down a stone hall that seemed to melt into darkness.

"Help!" Hermione shrieked, her free arm waving wildly in search of an anchor.

"Hermione!" Ron dove and caught her flailing hand, planting his foot against one of the giant barrels of soapy water. For one wild second it looked as though he was going to be able to hold her back, but suddenly the barrel gave a great groan and then the entire thing collapsed, spilling a wave of cold water over the tops of everyone's shoes.

As soon as he hit the floor, Ron continued to be dragged along, still clasping tightly to Hermione's quivering hand. In a last desperate attempt to find a hold on something, Ron reached blindly behind him and clasped onto Ginny's ankle. She crashed to the ground with a scream and in an instant was speeding along behind Ron, reaching both of her arms out over her head.

"LEAVE THE MUDBLOOD!" screeched the voice who, Harry now realized, was starting to sound suspiciously like Mrs. Black's portrait. "NO ONE HELPS A MUDBLOOD!"

Without wasting a second more, Harry sprinted after the three rapidly receding figures. He leapt for Ginny's outstretched fingers and skidded on his stomach through the doorway just as it slammed shut behind him.

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_A/N: Ah! Suspense! lol..._

_Sorry, I know that wasn't much but I'm very sick and I still have to go to soccer practice in about ten minutes._

_I'm seriously thinking about crying. Right now. I wish Harry Potter was real :(_


	3. Of Grumiltha and Marty

_A/N: Ah, an update at last. Thanks so much for all your reviews! They make me smile :)_

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They were in a circular room of cold, hard stone. Torches on the wall made the lighting an eerie shade of yellow-orange and it flickered from bright to dim as a slow wind moaned through the room, entering from a dark corridor at the far side of the chamber that Harry could not see the end of

Looking around, Harry noticed that the room was completely bare except for three enormous paintings on the walls—two on his right, and one on his left. The one by itself held nothing but a muddy-brown background and a tarnished frame. But the two on the right were very occupied indeed.

Harry stared wide-eyed at a painfully old woman with heavy wrinkles and a sharp, hooked nose that reminded him strongly of a certain greasy-haired Potions Professor. The rest of the woman's body, however, remained a mystery to Harry, as the hat she was wearing was so big and took up so much space that only the woman's head and shoulders were visible in the bottom corner of the frame. Harry did not much like the look of her sneer

The last portrait contained what appeared to be a very bitter old man. His skin drooped with what was undoubtedly very great age, and his balding head looked lumpy and deformed, almost like a liver-spotted skull in the dim light. At the moment he was wearing what Harry believed to be an expression of the most paralyzing dullness he had ever seen.

Suddenly Hermione groaned and stood up, massaging her wrist. Harry noticed something that looked like a dark bruise on her forehead, and opened his mouth to comment…but the man in the portrait beat him to it.

"Which one is it, Grumiltha, dear?" said the old man. "Which one's the Mudblood?"

"That one over there." Grumiltha pointed her beak-like nose towards Hermione. "See the nasty "M" on its forehead

Harry watched as Hermione's hand flew to the mark on her head, and upon closer inspection, Harry realized that it was indeed an "M".

"Oooh," squealed the old woman. "Oooh, look, Marty—It's a _girl_!

"Are you sure? It looks more like a boy to me—such a masculine figure."

"No—No, _look_ at that hair! No boy I've ever seen has hair like that—Well, to be honest, no girl I've seen has hair like that either…But look at that grotesque little clip—most definitely _not_ a boy." She suddenly gave a sigh that sounded almost sympathetic, yet it was quite obvious that she was still thoroughly disgusted. "That hair, though—all the parents' fault, I dare say. Muggles _do_ have the most repulsive features, you know.

Marty nodded, taking off his wire-frame spectacles and polishing them vigorously on his moldy, moth-eaten waistcoat.

"Too right," he said

"Now, wait just a minute," snapped Ginny, stepping forward with a furious look on her face. "What's going on here? Where are we? And who in the bloody hell are you—aside from a _complete_ snob?"

"_How dare you_!" hissed Grumiltha. "Who gave you permission to speak? Much less ask questions." The old woman gave Ginny a once-over, looking her up and down with her pruning lip still curled up in a definite sneer. "I can see you are of our kind, yet you act no different than if you hadn't an ounce of pureness in your blood at all. Your posture is atrocious, your face is dirty, your hair is a nightmare, and any lady of high breeding should _never_ speak a foul word in her life. It is _most_ unbecoming.

At that moment, Harry was very glad that he was not Grumiltha—the look on Ginny's face was absolutely murderous.

Marty, on the other hand, was just nodded quietly along with whatever was being said. Harry imagined his hearing was so bad that he hardly even knew what was going on at all

Ginny's face was very red as she replied angrily, "Excuse me! Who do you think you are? What gives _you_ the right to tell _me_ what—"

"I beg your pardon, young lady (if you are, in fact, a lady at all) but I do not much care for your tone. As your elder, I expect a certain manner of respect—which you are most certainly not expressing. And as such, I do not believe that you deserve my council." Harry had the impression that Grumiltha crossed her arms in a huff, but he couldn't actually be sure as her hat was still taking up most of the frame. "From here out," she continued loftily. "I simply refuse to speak another word on your behalf.

"_Behalf?_" said Hermione, Ron and Ginny at the same time. Harry felt briefly as though he were watching a television show. So far, he had not been a very active participant in the conversation.

"Yes, behalf," replied the woman, looking pointedly at Ron and averting all eye-contact with both Hermione and Ginny. "How could she possibly learn decent manners without proper instruction?

Ginny was glaring daggers at the old woman and Ron's face was glowing with anger, but it was Hermione that spoke up first.

"You call that _proper instruction_?" she squeaked in a high voice that Harry only heard her use when she was particularly irritated

"You know, Marty," Grumiltha whispered out of the corner of her mouth, not turning her head but staring fixedly at Hermione, her eyes wide and round as though she thought Hermione were a wild lioness about to pounce. "I think that Mudblood just spoke to me," she continued, managing to sound appalled, baffled, and terrified all at the same time.

"Poked you, you say?" replied Marty, readjusting his specs and squinting at Hermione with his greatly magnified eyes. "Must have missed it—what did she poke you for? Prod her back, I say. Serve her right."

"_No_," Grumiltha said loudly, finally taking her eyes off Hermione (who looked like she was becoming increasingly hurt and confused by the old woman's remarks) and turning her head in Marty's direction. "SPOKE, dear, she SPOKE to me."

"You _spoke_ to her? Why in seven Hippogriffs did you do that? Mudbloods are surprisingly dim, I've heard—complete savages. She probably didn't understand a word you said. No wonder she prodded you.

"Oi! Listen you!" Ron yelled, seeming to find his voice at last. "Call Hermione that name one more time, and I'll—I'll burn that ugly hat right off your wife's head!" Ron pointed his wand menacingly at Grumiltha's painting, whose occupant jumped in surprise, looking quite shocked and _extremely _offended.

"First of all, I am _not_ his wife—" Grumiltha started to reply in a stern voice. But before she could get out another word, a mirthless, high-pitched cackling filled the room and there was a bit of confusion as everyone looked around wildly for the source

"FINALLY!" the voice squealed in ecstasy. "FINALLY THE MUDBLOOD IS CAUGHT!"

And then, quite suddenly, something appeared in the empty painting on the far wall. It was Mrs. Black

"I was beginning to lose hope," Mrs. Black said in a strange, slippery voice and it took a moment before Harry understood why it sounded so odd. It was then he realized that he had never actually heard her normal voice before.

The screaming he decided, though much louder, was not quite as creepy. And locked inside a dimly lit dungeon in which Harry had no idea what sort of surprises might lurk, he wasn't quite sure if he preferred this new voice or not.

"I thought your Mudblood friend," Mrs. Black continued, looking pointedly at Ron whose face was twisted in dislike, "would never find this place. After all, a person can never assume too much with a Mudblood—they all seem to come with varying amounts of stupidity."

"Hey!" said Ron, Harry and Ginny at the same time.

Now it seemed as though Hermione was the one being left out, even though, ironically, the entire conversation was completely about her.

It just wasn't fair, thought Harry as he saw the hurt expression on Hermione's face. All three of the portraits talked as though she were some sort of crazed cave-woman who couldn't understand a word of their conversation.

Now, Harry knew that Hermione could be a bit annoying sometimes, and true, she _did_ need to lay off the rules a bit, but if there was anything Hermione was _not_, it was stupid. The injustice of it all made Harry want to chuck something.

"Eh-_hem_!" Grumiltha suddenly cleared her throat very loudly, making everyone jump. "I am very displeased," she said, squinting at all four of them with clear disgust, "with the tone you have been taking when addressing my lovely friend, Mrs. Black. This is her house after all and—"

"No it isn't!" Harry shouted. He suddenly felt as though something snapped inside him and he drew out his wand, pointing it threateningly at Grumiltha, who instantly looked very nervous at having yet another wand in her face.

"This house does not belong to that old witch—it belongs to _Sirius_! How can she even own a house when she's _dead_!"

At this, Mrs. Black let out a wail of despair and ran from her painting with her hands over his face. Harry secretly felt quite proud of himself.

But Grumiltha did not seem as pleased. In fact, she looked absolutely furious. "Now you listen here, young man!" she screeched. "That is absolutely _no_ way to treat a woman of such high respectability—DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Harry opened his mouth to spit back a scathing retort, but was interrupted by Marty, whom, in all the excitement, Harry had forgotten was even there.

"Oh, no, Grumiltha dear," he said. "These children have been far too rowdy for jam. I say, if they're hungry, they can find something with a bit less sugar, don't you think?"

Then everyone was silent for a moment, temporarily thrown out of sorts by the complete absurdness of the old man's words.

Mrs. Black took this silence to shuffle awkwardly back into her frame, snorting loudly.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione finally burst out. She grabbed hold of Ron's arm and started dragging him towards the dark corridor at the other side of the room. "I don't know how we got in here, but we're not going to find the exit just sitting around like this."

Thinking this was an entirely sensible observation, Harry followed after her. But before he could get far, Mrs. Black called after Hermione, making her stop dead in her tracks as though she were suddenly struck with a particularly strong impediment curse.

"Don't know how you got in here?" Mrs. Black snorted cruelly, addressing Hermione directly for the first time since she had appeared in the dungeon. "Can't you see, you silly girl? It's all _your_ fault. _You're_ the reason you and your friends are stuck here. Curiosity is a wretched thing isn't it? You just couldn't keep out, could you? You just had to go _nosing_ about, didn't you?"

"I was not nosing about!" Hermione snapped, whipping around to face Mrs. Black. "I was trying to find Rupert and Crookshanks! I know they're in here—what have you done with them!"

"Oh-ho-ho," Mrs. Black chuckled darkly, making Harry shudder. "They aren't here," she said silkily. "No—no, _they_ are locked neatly away in the attic...Have been all afternoon, in fact. Kreacher can be so useful when it comes to those sorts of things, you know."

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he saw the look of utter despair on Hermione's face. He waited expectantly for screams of outrage and sharp demands that both animals be released at once. But what actually came out of Hermione's mouth was much worse than what Harry could have ever anticipated.

Instead of looking at Mrs. Black, Hermione suddenly turned to Ron, her eyes wide and filled with hurt. "You lied," she said, her voice trembling. "You lied to me, Ron."

A shocked silent followed, in which even the portraits seemed interested in the outcome of the unfolding drama

"I—I—didn't—" Ron started to say, but he couldn't get out anymore. He was more of a loss for words than Harry could ever remember (which was saying something, as Ron was not always the first one to find choice words in a conversation).

Harry looked over at Hermione and saw the hurt betrayal in her face quickly turn to anger. "Ron—you—" She clenched her fists, and Harry got the impression that she was using all of her self-control not to become the wild lioness that Grumiltha seemed so afraid of.

"YOU ARE SUCH A JERK!" she finally shrieked. Then she spun on her heels and stormed furiously down the dark hallway

"See, Ron?" Ginny said at once. "See? Didn't I tell you—"

But Ron was already gone. Harry saw a flash of red hair and then Ron too, disappeared down the shadowed hall, hurrying quietly after Hermione's receding figure

"Idiot," Ginny whispered.

Harry blinked. "Sorry?" he said in surprise

"Oh!" Ginny jumped and looked back at Harry with her cheeks glowing a faint pink. "Sorry, I didn't mean you."

"Oh—yeah—I know," Harry replied awkwardly. "I just…didn't hear you.

"Oh."

"Yeah…

"…So, do you want to—"

Harry stopped talking as he suddenly became aware of another set of familiar voices whispering sharply behind him. Harry turned around to see Mrs. Black squeezed ungracefully into Grumiltha's painting which was creating all sorts of problems for Marty. He was forced almost completely out of his own frame by the back end of Grumiltha's hat as it had unsurprisingly overflowed from her portrait and was now the most prominent feature in Marty's.

"Come on," Harry heard Ginny mutter as she glanced at him with shrewish look. "Let me set her hat on fire."

Harry smiled but shook his head. "Let's wait for Hermione and Ron to come back," he said. "We still don't know how to get out of here.

Ginny glared and grudgingly tucked her wand away. "Fine," she grumbled.

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_A/N: Thank you for reading. If you are so inclined, I would very much like to hear your thoughts. Next chapter will be much longer...I hope x)  
_


	4. Of Traps and Tribulations

_A/N: Holy crap I'm updating! Totally did not think that would ever happen x)_

_Oh well, I did, and now am thoroughly excited about this fic once again, so look for lots more updates to come! Yay!_

_Sorry for the wait. If anyone is still reading this, I admire you more than I can tell._

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_

"Hermione!" Ron called as he jogged blindly down the dark hallway. He could hear the clicking of her shoes on the stone floor a few yards ahead of him, but the only thing he could see was a vague outline of her figure. "Hermione!" he called again. "Just—wait, will you!"

"Wait for what?" she snapped back, and Ron could hear her footsteps slow, though they were still moving quite rapidly. "Wait for you to lie to me again? Go away, Ron."

"NO," he said loudly, and put on an extra burst of speed. Ron realized a moment too late that the sound of Hermione's feet had stopped, and then there was a mutual "OOF!" from both parties as Ron crashed headlong into Hermione's back.

Realizing at once that Hermione was not made of such sturdy material as himself Ron made a grab for Hermione's flailing figure and miraculously managed to secure a hold around her waist. He set her to rights in an instant, but didn't notice that his arm had neglected to move until Hermione gave him a sharp pinch on the back of his hand.

"Get off me!" she growled, and Ron felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment.

"Well, excuse me for trying to help," he muttered darkly as he cradled a stinging hand to his chest.

Then Ron sputtered violently as a he suddenly got a big mouthful of Hermione's bushy hair as she whipped around to face him.

"I wouldn't have needed your help if you hadn't blundered into me in the first place!" she snapped.

"I didn't mean to—" Ron started to protest, but Hermione easily drowned him out with a voice that was steadily growing in volume.

"Why don't you learn to watch where you're going? Why can't you just learn to control your big, stupid feet?"

"Hey! I was only—"

"What in the world were you trying to do? Flatten me to the ground? Hah! Too bad you stopped short—maybe then you could have slapped me up on the wall next to dear old Mrs. Black, and then you and Harry and Ginny could all have had a good laugh, couldn't you! Yes, look at that foolish, gullible girl with a great big M on her forehead! Just look at her!"

It was then, when he had just about had enough and was very much on the verge of throwing a royal fit, that Ron finally realized Hermione was crying.

Instantly uncomfortable in light of this new discovery, Ron did not quite know what to say first. But after less than a moment of his silence, it turned out that he didn't need to say anything after all.

At last spent of her rage and accusations, Hermione let out one last cry that sound a lot like a strangled, "Oh, Ron!" and then suddenly (and quite unexpectedly) Ron felt her arms being thrown around his neck and her nose squashing against his chest as she buried her face in his sweater.

Tentatively Ron reached up to pat her awkwardly on the back. "S'alright," he mumbled, his face burning so red that he was half convinced it was lighting the entire hallway with its glow. "Just…stop crying, okay?"

Hermione took a slight pause in her sobs to mumble something unintelligible into Ron's shoulder.

"What?" he asked quietly.

Hermione pulled roughly away and slapped him on the arm. "I said you're still a jerk! And just because I fell all over you doesn't mean that—Oh, what's so funny!"

Ron tried to choke back his laughter but it was a lost cause. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "It's just, you were so mad before. I thought you were going to _murder_ me."

In the dim light Ron couldn't tell whether Hermione was frowning or smiling, but he prayed silently that it was the latter.

"Well that certainly wouldn't have been very funny," she said after a pause, and this time Ron was sure he could hear the edge of a smile in her voice.

"Uh…" Ron tentatively reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry," he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. "I, um, really thought I heard…"

Hermione sighed. "Ron, it really doesn't matter now whether you're sorry or not." She started to brush his hand off, but paused, and instead set hers lightly on top of his. "Thanks anyway though."

Ron glowed. "What do you think is down there anyway?" he said after a long pause.

The vague outline of Hermione's head turned to look down the hall. "I don't know. There doesn't seem to be any light that way."

Then she moved and Ron could see her reach into her pocket and take something out.

"_Lumos_," Hermione said suddenly and a beam of light exploded out of the end of her wand.

Ron did the same as Hermione took a glance down both ends of the hall and promptly began to walk directly into the apparently endless darkness.

"Don't you think we should get Harry and Ginny?" Ron called after her, but Hermione either didn't hear him, or did and pretended she didn't, because she didn't stop. Ron hesitated, looking over his shoulder uncomfortably, but he eventually shrugged to himself and followed after her.

It wasn't long before the light from their wands suddenly fell upon the moldy surface of a solid brick wall. There was a steady drip of water running from the top right corner, but other than that, it looked completely impenetrable.

Ron walked up beside Hermione and glanced over at her. She was frowning and her eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Distractedly, he ran a hand through his hair, which was still wet and soapy from his fall earlier in the laundry room. "Well that's not very encouraging," he said finally, and Hermione nodded. Ron reached out to touch the slimy bricks but Hermione made a loud noise of unease.

"What?" he said, his hand still poised in mid-air.

Hermione fingered a button on her blue cardigan. "Well, you know…It's just…Remember what happened last we touched something?" As if to emphasize that point, she reached up to rub distractedly at the "M" on her forehead.

Ron scoffed loudly. "You're the one who touched the door, not me—I just want to see if there's anyway we can get through. I mean, I didn't see any other doors, did you? This must be the way we came in. Besides, we're already here—what else could happen? Where else is there to go but out?" And so without even waiting for Hermione to reply Ron laid both hands flat on the wall as though he were an investigator in a muggle mystery film and was searching for a secret switch.

"Ron, this is so dumb. You're not going to—" But Hermione stopped talking immediately as she felt the ground begin to tremble beneath her feet. Then her hands flew to cover her ears as what sounded like a thousand rocks grating together assaulted her on all sides.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" boomed a voice that Hermione could not quite tell whether it was in her head or not. Either way, she recognized whose it was, and knew they were in trouble. She freed a hand from her ear long enough to reach out and snatch Ron away from the wall. "What did you do?" she shouted, unplugging the finger he had stuffed in his ear as the grating sound only seemed to get louder with each passing second.

"Nothing!" Ron shouted, slowly backing away, dragging her with him. "I didn't do anything!"

Hermione was about to shout back a very stinging retort, but she never got the chance. Just as she opened her mouth, the stone beneath both of their feet gave out and suddenly she and Ron were hurtling down, down, down into what felt like an endless, black hole.

Hermione screamed.

* * *

Ginny picked absently at a crack in the stone floor where she was sitting. Finally she sighed and looked up at Harry who seemed to have been doing the exact same thing. "Harry, this is ridiculous. Let's just go get them."

He shrugged. "If you want," he said, getting to his feet.

Ginny glanced over at the portraits, who were still conversing with each other quietly (or in Marty's case, trying to avoid being speared by a multi-feathered hat). She scowled at the two women when they noticed her looking and abruptly stopped talking. "How they are related to Sirius, I'll never know," she muttered to Harry once he had joined her and they began to make their way down the hall. Harry gave a small chuckle and nodded his agreement.

They had only been walking for a couple of minutes when they began to hear the sound of a distant rumbling and Ginny glanced down, feeling a slight tremor in the ground. Puzzled, she looked up at Harry who looked right back, seemingly just as confused. But before either of them could begin to make a guess, they heard the unmistakable sound of Hermione's scream and without even a word between them, they both broke into a full-out run.

"Hermione?" Ginny called desperately as she and Harry continued to stampede blindly towards the last echoes of the scream. Then the rumbling sound came again, and this time it was much louder, the source of the tremors much closer. She heard Harry cast _lumos_ beside her, and she followed suit, sending out her beam of light in just enough time to catch a glimpse of a section of the floor, twenty feet ahead and at the foot of what looked like a very solid brick wall, shudder closed over a wide, dark opening.

Ginny fell to her knees, holding her shaking hands over the last place she had seen the chilling black hole, unsure of what in the world she should do first.

"Move!" Harry said, pulling her back with one hand, while the other held his wand, already poised for a spell. "_REDUCTO!_" he yelled, a red-orange blast erupting from the tip of his wand and slamming into the floor with a spectacular explosion. When the smoke cleared however, the stone was still perfectly intact, albeit a bit scorched.

Harry raised his wand and made as if to try again, but Ginny stopped him. "No, Harry," she said. "I don't think that's going to work."

Harry gave her an extremely disgruntled look. "How do you know? I haven't even—"

"Look," she said sternly, but not unkindly, "one, that was clearly a trap, and two, we are not here by accident. Some very powerful dark wizards lived in this house once, Harry, and I don't think anything as simple as a _reductus_ curse is going to make much of a difference."

"But I haven't even tried—"

"Look, I'm not saying that we can't do this, I'm just saying that we need to think it out a little more. I mean, what makes you think we won't just trigger the trap again?"

At that Harry, took a step back, looking very uneasy.

Ginny ignored him and continued, frowning as she tried to puzzle a plan together. "I have no idea where this mystery tunnel leads, Harry, but I don't expect it's anywhere good. If we end up down there with Ron and Hermione I doubt that we'd be in any shape to help them." Her frown deepened as she looked up at the wall in front of her. "And there is obviously no getting through that way. I hate to say it, but I think that those portraits are our best hope."

"What?" Harry hissed. "But they're the reason we're here! You want their _help_? How in the world do you imagine we'll manage that?"

Ginny finally stood, stepping carefully back, away from the wall and the hidden trap. "Well to be honest, it's Hermione they really want, not us. We just happened to be with her. And I think that my being pureblood might help us out a little."

"So what are we going to do then?" Harry said finally.

"We're going to make friends," she replied.

Harry looked skeptical, but he grudgingly complied. Ginny thought he sounded a little a miffed that he wasn't actually allowed to blow things up and save the day in the nice, manly way for once, but she did not care in the slightest. She knew she was right, and if he didn't think so, well, she knew quite a mean bat-bogie hex that just might change his mind…

* * *

Hermione kept her eyes closed tight as she fell, unsure of whether it was her body or just her head that was spinning. She had no thoughts, no ideas, nothing going on in her brain but a sheer, blind panic. She heard Ron cry out beside her, and she scrunched her eyes even tighter, willing her mind to cooperate.

_Open your eyes_, she commanded herself. And to her surprise, she did. She expected to be met with complete darkness, but instead she was startled by a bright light that was flashing somewhere below her feet. She looked down and saw that it was Ron's wand, flipping over and over itself, a good five feet away from Ron himself, who also appeared to be spinning.

At that point, Hermione found herself beyond screaming. All she could do was stare wide-eyed at the wand as the wind roared in her ears. Then she began to see something reflecting the light far, far, below them, and it wasn't long before she realized that it must be the ground. This should have spurred her into some kind of action, but all it seemed to do was immobilize her even further. _Do something!_ her mind screamed. _Do a spell! Do any spell! Just do SOMETHING! _With each flash of the rotating wand, the oddly reflective ground got closer and closer, and still Hermione could do nothing. Finally, as the end of their fall rushed up to meet them, Hermione felt herself hold out her wand in a grip so tight that she could feel the wooden ridges biting into her palm. She closed her eyes once again and willed herself to think of a spell. She could feel herself falling faster and faster and she knew that any second she was going to find herself flat as a pancake, but still nothing came. Without even the slightest clue as to what she was doing, Hermione started to wave her arm in what she hoped with all her heart were the appropriate movements and screamed the first thing that came into her head. "_WINGARDRIUM LEVIOSA!"_

It must have worked a little bit because she did slow down, but they were both still falling at a considerable speed when they hit, so it was a very lucky break for them that the ground turned out to be a very deep pool of ice-cold water.

Hermione felt all the breath leave her lungs with a whoosh as she hit. The water was colder than she could have ever imagined and it filled her mouth and lungs as she struggled to get her head to the surface. She heard Ron sputtering as his head popped up beside her. He instantly came to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her keep afloat (everyone knew that swimming was not her strong suit). Hermione clung to his neck with a deathly tight grip as Ron began to paddle towards some unknown destination—hopefully solid land. (It was far too dark and her eyes were still too blurry to make out definite shapes). Hermione squinted, trying to make out anything around them, and suddenly notice that what little light they was beginning to dim steadily. It was then she realized that Ron's wand must be sinking.

"Hold on," Ron rasped in her ear, shoving her away and diving back under water with a splash.

Hermione called after him as her searching hands made contact with a wet and slimy, yet thankfully stable object. She hugged herself to it and tried to calm her shaking body as Ron's wand light continued to fade. Then suddenly it went out completely and Hermione found herself in total, utter darkness. It was painfully quite and the only thing she could hear was the soft splashing of Ron's remaining ripples and her own erratic breathing. She flinched as she felt something ghost across her knuckles, and it wasn't until after she shook her hand violently and heard the sound of squeaks and skittering claws that she realized it had been the whiskers of a rat.

"Ron?" she whispered desperately, but there was no reply. Hermione was alone.

* * *

_A/N: To be continued…_

_And as always, comments greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading :) _


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